


Convalescence Part Three

by TheMuchTooMerryMaiden



Series: The only way that each can help the other [6]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, My characters wont stop soliloquising
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-18
Updated: 2011-10-18
Packaged: 2017-10-24 18:12:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMuchTooMerryMaiden/pseuds/TheMuchTooMerryMaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James wrestles with his insecurities and Robbie wrestles with the age difference</p>
            </blockquote>





	Convalescence Part Three

For the next day James mostly slept and so where possible did Robbie. James still ran a fever most of the time that was far worse at night and certainly for the second night James stayed with him it was too high a temperature for Robbie to feel that leaving him was a good idea. As people with a fever often do he’d developed some fixed ideas about some very strange things and it took some work, frequently repeated, to persuade him that he didn’t need to go and ‘deal with’ a variety of matters most of which were completely nonsensical.

“So who is Fred?” Robbie asked the next morning over a ‘nursery breakfast’ of boiled egg and toast.

“Sorry? Fred?” James replied, clearly not understanding.

“Seemed very important last night,” Robbie said, tempering a grin down to a broad smile, “He needed ‘sorting out’ apparently. You were most insistent.” James groaned,

“You’re going to hold fevered ramblings against me in evidence? Surely PACE protects me doesn’t it?”

“You could be right. Do you remember at all what it was about? It really did sound very interesting last night.”

“Sorry, sir, Robbie,” James corrected himself, “I really can’t recall ever knowing a single person called Fred, not one.”

“Ah well. You finished?”

James looked up with an apologetic expression,

“I have, actually, it’s not that I don’t appreciate it but I’m just not hungry...”

“Don’t worry about it, as long as it doesn’t go on too long, it’s not exactly like there’s a lot to you at the best of times, I can’t have a skeleton as my right-hand man, can I?”

“I’ll try not to waste away like a Victorian heroine.” Robbie could tell that James was trying for humour to cover up irritation. He picked up the tray and headed to the door,

“Get some sleep.”

Except that tired though he was James couldn’t manage to get to sleep. Every time he tried to relax enough to sleep he ended up replaying conversations, second guessing every nuance of speech, deciding what he should have said, plotting out both sides of future conversations and every single one of his hamster-on-a-wheel thoughts was negative and further proof of his own stupidity and his crashing degree of indebtedness and he hated it all. Left on his own ‘to sleep’ there were no distractions, nothing to interrupt the death spiral.

 _Egg and soldiers, God, how old does he think I am. I knew it would be like this, I’m like one of his kids for pity’s sake. ‘Eat it all up, James, like a good boy, there, there.’ I want to go home, I can’t cope with him fussing over me, he must really think I’m pathetic, a pathetic child. Bet he wishes he hadn’t offered to let me stay, must really be regretting it by now, I bet. I’m probably really cramping his style. I know he rang Dr Hobson, probably having to put her off while he looks after ‘the lad’. Shit, I’m so tired of being ‘the lad’ to him. He must be so sick of me. I hate this, I must really be a git, I should be grateful and all I can manage is snapping and being horrible. I really am horrible. If I really cared about him then I’d put in for a transfer; he’s never going to look for someone else if I’m around and he’s not on his own. He’d be far better off if I wasn’t around him, then he’d know he was lonely and he would find someone else, probably Dr Hobson. That would be so much better for him, but I’m such a selfish arse that I still stay here even knowing that. I should force myself to leave ‘be cruel only to be kind’_. And on and on and on.

When Robbie put his head round the door to check in on James he wasn’t entirely surprised to find that he wasn’t asleep, but he hadn’t expected the lad to look more feverish than he had during the night. It was clear that he had been tossing and turning, the bed clothes were all over everywhere. James looked up and Robbie found it hard to interpret his expression,

“Are you not feeling so good?” he asked.

“I’m fine!” snapped James,

“Sure?” Robbie didn’t try to keep the scepticism out of his voice.

“Of course I’m bloody sure! Just leave me alone will you?” Robbie’s face closed down at that, and James would have given his right arm to take back the last five seconds, and that made the anger in him rise even further. “I’m going home tomorrow,” he stated.

“If you feel well enough, sure,” Robbie replied with a shrug. “Do you need anything now?”

 _Oh, for God’s sake_ , James thought, but he merely snapped out a further curt “I’m fine,” and watched as Robbie pulled the door closed. _Oh, God, I’m doing it again. What the hell is wrong with me? No one in my life has ever been kinder to me than he is and I’m practically swearing at him, I’m actually having a go at him while I sleep in his bed, what a bloody arse I am._ Tears prickled at James’ eyes and he heard the front door shut and with Robbie out of the house James let them go crying quietly at first but then giving way completely to huge wracking sobs.

* * *

Robbie, returning to the kitchen from having collected the milk from the doorstep, could hardly have missed the sound of James crying. The thing was he didn’t know what to do about it. He knew, or he thought he knew what the problem was, he’d seen it often enough when one of his two was ill, they felt awful and it made them bad tempered and then when they’d let go of their temper they’d end up in tears and feel much better. Probably if that’s all that this was the best bet would be to let James cry himself to sleep; it wouldn’t do his headache much good but he’d feel better for it. What nagged at Robbie was the feeling that he might be misinterpreting what was going on.

That first Friday morning when James had said that he couldn’t remember the last time somebody had looked after him had got stuck in his mind and he kept going back to it like touching a sore tooth with his tongue to see whether it still hurt. _If that was really true_ , he thought, _then I’m probably overwhelming him, like a stray cat that wants to be looked after but can’t cope and bites and he probably doesn’t want to feel beholden to me either, not that he is, but I can see how he might feel that way. Not that there’s a lot I can do about it, it’s just another thing that’ll have to come from him. Wonder if he really wants to go home? Don’t think he’s well enough just yet. I wonder if I could get Laura to visit and give a medical opinion. Probably best not, he’s always been a bit sensitive about Laura. That probably means something, just not sure what. Nothing I can do right now, I’ll just have to see how he is when he calms down a bit, he’d never forgive me if I saw him having a bloody meltdown like he is now, especially if a big part of it is that he hates having to feel grateful. And more to the point I think I really am past the point where I want to comfort him like one of the kids. Best just to get on with something._

Sighing Robbie went back into the living room and picked up the pile of bills and bank statements and other mail that had been accumulating for the last couple of weeks while he worked on the Murchison case, reflecting that there was no point ruining a good day by dealing with them, he decided he'd better sort them now.

* * *

When James woke up his head was thundering but strangely he felt better, calmer, he supposed, it had been a release of tension. Still, he had to get himself sorted out; it wouldn’t do to have Robbie see him all tear stained. Not that he’d ask about it, but James knew that he’d struggle not to explain anyway and that could only end in madness. _Correction_ , James thought as he sat up, _my head wasn’t thundering before, it’s thundering now_. It felt like every beat of his heart was crushing his brain and eyeballs, like the worst hangover he’d ever had. _That’ll be the dehydration_ , he reasoned, _crying like that when I was already dehydrated, bound to feel like shit. I’ll get some water from the bathroom_.

Getting up was not exactly a picnic, James felt weak and shaky but he was determined and managed to get to the bathroom, drink two glasses of water rather more rapidly than was sensible and wash his face. Going back into the bedroom he realised he was feeling a little better, but he also realised ‘I’m going home tomorrow’ probably showed an unwarranted optimism about how sick he was feeling. Where before he’d slept the thought of having to back down from this would have set him off on another self-hate filled mental rant, with a clearer mind he knew that far from minding Robbie would be relieved. _I bet he thought of ringing Dr Hobson and getting her to say I should stay in bed_ , and at that thought he cracked a smile before he got back into the bed and settled down to sleep.

* * *

Having tamed the paperwork mountain Robbie decided that enough time had passed for him to legitimately check on James. He’d heard the younger man go in and out of the bathroom some time since, if he was ever going to manage to compose himself he should have managed it by now. First, though, tea.

Carrying the two mugs into the room, Robbie shoved the door to with his hip and walked over to put the tea down on the bedside cabinet. James sat up, rubbing his eyes, and looking so ridiculously young that Robbie suddenly felt very uncomfortable,

“Brew’s up,” he said with a smile that he hoped had been quick enough to cover his discomfort, more probable given that James was half asleep and not so well, “feeling any better?” he enquired.

“Yeah, I am actually,” James replied. James took a breath as if to say something and then clearly changed his mind. The pause lengthened into as close to an uncomfortable silence as the two of them had ever had. Robbie was the one to break it,

“Sorry if things have been a bit overwhelming for you, it’s hard for you to deal with these things sometimes isn’t it?” James practically sighed with relief,

“It’s me that should be apologising,” he said, “you’ve done such a lot for me and all I could manage was bad tempered and surly. I’m just not used to anyone looking after me but me.”

“Like I said, don’t talk daft, it’s pretty much how you could expect to feel just from the meningitis, I know you didn’t mean any of it.” Robbie was aware of a degree of nerves about saying that, what if he did mean it? But he clamped down on the emotion and from the look on James’ face he had got the right of it. “You know you don’t really need to go home tomorrow, don’t you?” Robbie continued,

“Thanks.” James said simply.

“But it’d probably do you good to get up properly for a while, get yourself up and dressed and we’ll watch something brainless on the box.”

James couldn’t remember where he’d come across the phrase ‘weak as a kitten’ but he’d never realised how apt it was until getting dressed and walking into the living room left him feeling like he’d run a marathon. Getting as far as the sofa he dropped into his usual corner of it and groaned. Robbie smiled at him,

“At least it’ll make you appreciate your bed,” he joked.

“I think it will at that. What’s on?”

In the end they settled for an old film, a black and white screwball comedy, showing on the far reaches of the film channels. James was reasonably sure the plot wouldn’t have made any sense if he had been well enough to take it in, it definitely didn’t make any sense when he was warm and comfortable and drowsy on a late Sunday afternoon. What did make sense to him was to lean into Robbie, making himself comfortable and to doze off to the accompaniment of the flickering black and white images.

Robbie had seen the film before and more or less knew the plot which was as he thought, happen as well, since James, unselfconscious for once, cuddling up to him was more than a little distracting. It seemed ridiculous that the lanky length of James could tuck up into such a small space, leaning into his shoulder and just getting more comfortable when Robbie dared to put an arm round him. Robbie tried to take notice of the film but as James relaxed fully he slipped down Robbie’s side until he was asleep with his head on Robbie’s thigh. _Well at least he seems to be more comfortable_ , Robbie thought, and he gently touched the younger man’s forehead trying to gauge whether he was still feverish; it didn’t seem like he was, just very tired.

Robbie found his whole attention focused on his sergeant in a way that was just not possible when he was awake. _Look at his hair. He’s ridiculously fair. I reckon this is about as long as I’ve ever seen his hair. I like it like this, it curls. His hair would have been great for the 70s he wouldn’t even have had to have a perm!_ Robbie allowed his hands to tease through James’ hair for a little while enjoying the silky feel of it while he wrestled with the idea that when he had been pestering his mam to let him have his hair permed like a footballer, James hadn’t even been born. _Does it matter? He’s an old soul, whatever his birth certificate says. I’m thinking about this too much, but all I want to do is hold him, keep him safe, make things better for him. I wish I knew what he wants_.

James stirred a little and Robbie snatched his hand away from the lad’s hair, flushing at the thought of explaining what he’d been doing. James turned over and Robbie assumed he was just getting comfortable until James opened one eye and said,

“Don’t stop, please.”


End file.
